


Wings (Alternate)

by Wxlves



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Barely Canon Compliant, Before ACOWAR, Not Canon Compliant, a lot of it, after acomaf, why did i do this to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: What if Cass' wings never did heal after ACOMAF?(Set between ACOMAF and ACOWAR- not canon compliant)**ATTENTION**This picks up around chapter 6 of my (unfinished) story of the same title. This is an alternate ending (actually, it was my original idea.) If you read that, skip this chapter 1, head straight to chapter 2 (do not collect $200).Chapter 1 of this story is chapters 1-4 of the last one, chapter 2 is the new part(ik it's sort of confusing, sorry)





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-  _ Cassian _

 

Pain. That was all Cass felt before he even opened his eyes. He heard the voice of his training commander in his head,  _ assess the situation, learn what you can before they know you’re able.  _ His ears picked up faint whispers from the other room but his head was too fogged to know whether he recognized them, instinct telling him to assume they're not friendly. When the clean, sterile smell of the room failed to reveal anything, besides the faintest hint of a familiar scent, he thought back, trying to remember what happened before he blacked out. All he could think of was pain.  _ Okay, what hurts?  _ he thought, hoping that could give him some clues.  _ Everything. What hurts the most? My back...no, my wings.  _ Sudden terror shot through him, overriding every minute of training and every instinct as he opened his eyes and sat up, far too fast. And screamed. That was when the whispering voices abruptly stopped and a lone figure rushed into the room. Cass prayed this was no one he’d have to defend himself against, but when the violet-eyed fae dropped to his knees before the bed, he sagged back against the pillows in relief. 

 

“Rhys,” he croaked out, throat rasping. Rhys took Cassian’s hand into both his own, bowing his neck and resting his forehead on their joined hands. 

 

“Mor and Az are outside. We didn’t want to startle you by all rushing in, but they’ve been worried, Cass. I have too.” 

 

With a jolt Cass remembered Azriel, the blood pouring from his chest, and struggled to sit up again, biting his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Az. Az. Is he okay? He’s here? He’s-” Rhys cut him off.

 

“He’s okay. He’s still injured, but healing. He’ll be okay.” Images of his camp-brother’s scarred, bloodied corpse dissipated instantly, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. Cass finally looked over at his High Lord, kneeling beside the bed, and chuckled hoarsely. 

 

“Get off your damn knees, Rhys. You’ll kneel before no one, and tattoo your knees to prove it, but the instant I’m dying you bow like I’m your leige.” Rhys laughed, full lips curling, but worry still shadowed his eyes. 

 

“I’ll get them now, lay down Cass.” 

 

“Mother hen.”

 

A delighted laugh came from the doorway, and Cass looked up to see Mor there, Azriel’s shadowed form looming behind her. “Good to see you haven’t lost your charm, you oversized bat.” Cass gave another dry, rasping laugh, then slid his gaze over to the shifting shadows still in the doorway. 

 

“Azriel.”

 

The shadows slunk away to reveal Az, shifting from foot to foot with more restlessness than Cass had ever seen from the Shadowsinger. His hazel eyes, usually so cold, were filled with warmth and relief, and as he knelt on one knee by the bed, Cass saw the deep bruises etched under his eyes. His scarred skin was several shades paler than the usual deep tan, yet these were the only physical signs of the injury that had left him crumpled on the ground. Cass didn’t reach for Azriel the way Rhys had for him, letting the solid, steady presence speak for the lack of physical contact. Azriel let out a little huff, corners of his mouth curling slightly which Cassian took to mean he was ecstatic, his ever-present shadows nowhere in sight. 

 

The polite clearing of a throat sounded from behind Mor and an old woman bustled into the room, arms full of clay jars. Her features had the strong cast and vicious beauty of the High Fae, but her face was set with deep wrinkles. Cassian marveled at how ancient this woman must be if Rhys, after five centuries, looked to be a human early in his second decade. She clucked her tongue, frowning, and scolded, 

“I hope for your sake you didn’t reopen your wounds, Illyrian.” Cassian, startled at being scolded by this ancient, tiny woman, just blinked. The woman turned, gave an unimpressed look to the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, and shooed him out, The Morrigan and the Spymaster quickly following. Once the Inner Circle (no, Feyre was gone) had left, the healer turned to Cass,  a guarded look in her eyes. It wasn’t fear of him, he had a strong feeling this woman would be just as unimpressed with him in his siphons and armor than she was now. In fact, that look wasn’t fear of anything, it was fear  _ for  _ something. For _ him?  _ She didn’t let him know what was going on inside her grey-haired head, instead ordering, “turn around.” When Cass twisted too fast, she barked, “Careful!” and he slowed his movements, swinging his legs around painstakingly slowly. 

 

Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive, and the first brush of fingers against the bandaged membrane, despite the pain, set the hairs along his spine standing up. The healer, clearly experienced with wings such as his, deftly unwrapped the bloodied bandages. Cassian, unable to swallow down the question burning in his throat, asked, even as his stomach roiled at the thought, “Will-” he stopped, took a breath, and continued. “Will I ever fly again?” 

 

The dread was hot coals burning in his stomach, eating away at his insides for every second the healer didn’t answer. Eventually, he craned his neck as far as possible to try looking at her. She paused her work, lifting her head so her rich brown eyes, so like Mor’s, met his. The eye contact lasted only a second before she returned to her work, brusquely replying, “Your back muscles will heal completely. As for your wings, it’s too early to know for sure, but likely not.” At this, she again paused and peered back up at him. With surprising tenderness she added, “I am truly sorry. I know what your wings mean to you Illyrians, and I swear on my lover’s grave, may she rest in peace, I tried my absolute hardest.” 

 

Cassian, numbed to his core, just nodded. “I believe you.”

  
  


Chapter 2-  _ Rhysand _

It was nearly midnight when the healer had finished with the poultices and bandages, and Rhys hadn’t heard a word from either Cassian or her in almost an hour. Though he had done his best not to eavesdrop with his highly-tuned Fae ears, the silence said enough. Cass was never quiet for so long a time. The healer slipped out the healing room door quietly, with a slight curtsy to Rhys as she did so. He extended his hand towards her, bowing low, and said, “thank you, Roma. For everything.” She showed only the faintest flicker of surprise at this deference, and simply nodded in response. She was almost out the building when she paused, taking a step back. 

 

“I almost forgot, he should stay at the sanctuary tonight, but will be able to go home tomorrow morning. I’ll return then with salves for him to take back.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but hesitated. Rhys, sensing her uncertainty, cocked his head to the side; encouraging. Roma leveled her gaze at him, the weight of four thousand years in her eyes as she warned, “Watch him and keep him close. He needs it.” Then she was gone. Rhys turned to see Mor, eyes filled with anguish, and Azriel, stone faced and quiet. 

 

“You two should head back to the townhouse, get some rest.” The Fae and Illyrian both shook their heads in a defiant no. 

 

“I’ll leave with him, in the morning. For now…” Mor gestured at the various chairs arranged in the sitting area. That night three of the most powerful beings in Prythian fell asleep on armchairs. 

 

When Rhys awoke, Azriel was gone. He looked to Mor, but she was asleep, blond hair splayed on the armrest of the chair, red lipstick somehow perfectly in place. His nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air, smelling no blood or anything that pertained to a struggle. Of course not. Cauldron help the man who tries to kidnap the Shadowsinger from right under his court’s noses. After a moment of focusing his hearing he detected two breaths, deep and heavy in sleep, coming from the healing room where Cassian lay. Rhys opened the door as quietly as he could and looked in. Cass was asleep on his side, muscled chest rising and falling in sleep. Azriel lay on his stomach over the sheets, next to the Commander with an arm awkwardly thrown over Cass’ torso. Rhys smiled sadly at the scene before him, so like those long years ago. 

 

_ Azriel would wake screaming, night after night. He refused help from anyone, even Cass and Rhys, who were his brothers by now. It had taken weeks to get even the slightest hint of what he’d been through out of him. Months and months passed before he told them what truly occurred with his brothers. Why he had the horrible scars covering his hands. It wasn’t difficult to guess at burn scars, but how they’d come to mark his skin, even with fast Illyrian healing, was a story he’d buried deep. After nearly a year of waking, every night, to his screams, (and more often than not, Cass’ soothing whispers) Rhys awoke to find the red rays of sun just beginning to creep over the tops of the Steppes. He had slept through the night. More importantly, Azriel had slept through the night. When he went searching for the source of this newfound peace, he found it in Cassian, large arm draped over Az’s torso, two tan, muscled chests rising and falling in tandem. For months, they slept like that every night. As far as Rhys knew, no romantic feelings were attached to these nights, nothing occurring but a deep sleep, lacking nightmares for either Illyrian.  _

 

Rhys shut the door as quietly as he could, Illyrians’ ears were as sensitive as their wings. When he turned he saw Mor just beginning to stir. She cracked one eyelid, peered at him a moment, then shut it again, covering her eyes in the crook of her elbow. “Graceful,” Rhys scoffed, eyes rolling. Mor pulled her lip back in a silent snarl and flipped so she faced away from him. A sudden wave of loneliness hit him and he wished Feyre were there, despite knowing she wanted to be in the Spring Court; she relished being able to gather information on the man she likely hated more than anyone. He sent these thoughts down the bond, and got a soft reply.  _ I miss you too.  _ Heaving a sigh, Rhys collapsed back into his chair and waited for dawn to come creeping in. 

  
  
  


Chapter 3-  _ Azriel _

Cass’ movements stirred Azriel awake too. He rolled onto one side to find Cass’ bandaged back inches from his nose, tattoos blurred from their proximity to his face. He craned his neck backwards, the Illyrian runes slowly coming into focus, spelling  _ strength  _ with a long, raised scar running through the middle. “Just like old times, huh?” Cassian’s tone was light, but Az could hear the dull, heavy undertone, despite his best attempts at hiding it. The Shadowsinger decided to play along for now, adopting as cheery a tone as he ever got and asking, 

 

“Sleep well?” Cass’ snort was derisive, but he nodded, which Azriel took to mean  _ fine.  _ “The healer said you could be released today. She’ll give you some salves to take with you.” Az slid out of bed and efficiently buckled his armor on over the shirt and pants he already wore. He heard a hiss and turned to see Cass sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to stand. Noticing his white-knuckled grip on the thin wooden bedpost, Azriel held out a hand, gripping Cass’ wrist and pulling him into a standing position. 

 

“Thanks,” Cass huffed, breathlessly, nostrils flaring as he inhaled against the pain. Azriel studied him a moment, once again stiff and stone-faced, shadows slithering over his wrists and up his arms. “What do they sound like?” Following his gaze down to his own wrists, where Cassian’s eyes tracked the shadows, he gave a tug on that darkness deep within, pulling the shadows towards him so they curled around the back of his neck. 

 

“They sound cold and dark. It’s a hissing noise they make, yet I hear words.” Az tilted his head, hazel eyes cold, as he added, “they sound like home to me, but I believe they’d kill any others who heard their whispers” The sentience he referred to them with chilled even him. Azriel didn’t have to wonder why he’d asked, the dark shadows in his bright hazel eyes said enough. 

-

They winnowed back to the townhouse, Azriel and Rhys supporting Cassian between them. When they landed, Cass pale from exertion and pain, Rhys went ahead inside after shooting a worried look in the injured Illyrian’s direction. Az stayed with the Commander a moment longer, scarred hand resting on the back of his neck. When Cassian turned to him and nodded, jaw set, they marched into the townhouse, together. Amren was waiting in the kitchen, and upon seeing the two males, cast one a knowing look, of warning. The other received a slightly pitying look, if Amren could be capable of such a thing as pity. Without saying a word, she vacated the room, leaving behind a perfectly sliced loaf of bread and fruits from the gardens of Velaris. Az pointed a finger at the seat nearest the food, commanding. Cassian shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” 

 

“You’ll eat anyway. Get your strength back. Now sit.” Azriel’s tone was cool as ever, leaving no room for argument or discussion. In his four hundred and eighty years with Cass, he had never, not once, passed up food, as long as he knew it was safe. Not allowing his worry at this to show through, he settled into the chair opposite Cass and watched him, making sure he was really eating. 

 

“Mother hen.”

 

“You’ve already called Rhys that. Think of something original and maybe it’ll get to me,” was Az’s smooth reply. Cassian’s head shot up so fast Az worried about his neck. 

 

“Did you just make a joke?” The slight curl to the Spymaster’s lips indicated that yes, he indeed had. Cass shook his head, the slightest chuckle leaving his lips. For a moment he was the same light hearted, joking wise-ass Azriel knew him as, but it was gone in a flash. Despite his earlier protests, Cassian ate the majority of the loaf and made it about halfway through the sweet purple grapes before stopping and pushing the plate away. “Why are you looking at me like that? Like you have no idea what to do with me?”

 

“Because, Cass, I don’t know what to do with you.”

 

“You could spar with me. I’ve been cooped up too much. I’ve got a lot of… unchanneled aggression.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Cass sounded incredulous, and there was a hint of a snarl behind his voice. “And why the hell not?”

 

Azriel remained as unruffled as always, calmly replying, “Your back isn’t healed enough to spar. You’ll open your wounds.”

 

“I don’t think you understand.” The dangerous edge to Cassian’s voice set the hair on Azriel’s neck standing on end. “I’m never going to fly again, I’ve hardly moved in days, and I  _ do _ know what’s best for me.”

 

Azriel stood up to his full height, barely an inch shorter than the other Illyrian, and planted his hands on the table, blue siphons catching the sun. “You’ve lost use of your wings. You’re grounded. A grounded creature meant for the sky will always have the same reaction as a caged one… fight or flight. However, flight has never been an option for your arrogant ass, and so you fight. You’ll fight with me in the ring, you’ll fight with me here at this table, I have a feeling you’d brawl straight through the streets like a feral animal.  _ Do not  _ give in to your base instincts at a time like this. You cannot surrender to this endless aggression, it will only  _ make things worse. _ ”  With that he sat back down, relaxed but ready to move quickly if needed. When Cass remained where he was, tensed, Azriel leant back in his chair, tipping onto two legs. “When I was locked in that cellar, day after day, I wished to surrender. I wanted to become feral and wild and hardly sentient or civilized. It would have been much easier than clinging on to my sanity by the slightest thread. But I did. Even today, I don't know why, or how. Maybe the shadows helped me. Here's the thing. You have loved ones helping you, trying to get you through this. So  _ don't,”  _ here his tone turned angry, “try that shit. I had  _ no one.  _ No one and nothing and I still made it out.” His hazel eyes burned with a fury he hadn't felt in years, not since Mor had been dumped on their border with a note nailed to her body. In an instant, however, the roiling sea of anger split, revealing something far more vulnerable. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he added, “If you can't do it for yourself, do it for us.”

 

Chapter 4-  _ Cassian _

Cassian was floored. Azriel, hard, ice-cold, unfeeling, all knowing Azriel, had shown more emotion in minutes than Cass had ever gotten out of him in five hundred years. Az was staring at him, stone exterior carefully in place once again. There was a moment of charged silence as the two most powerful Illyrians in Prythian faced off. Ice and fire. Azriel tensed, obviously sensing the power rippling from his brother, and shields of blue light and black shadow flew up around him just as red exploded outward, sending a rippling wave of destruction. Glass shattered, wood splintered and fabric tore as unleashed power raged. Azriel let it happen, shielding only himself, knowing Cass would never let his power extend beyond this room. Cass had to appreciate that trust. And when he was finally managed to reel in his power, Az’s shields dropping, he fell into a crouch, elbows on his knees and hands fisted into his long hair. He felt strong, calloused fingers grip his chin and raised his head, meeting Azriel’s eyes. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips as he said, “Go upstairs and get some sleep. You’ve always been cranky when you’re tired.” 

 

“How can you do this? I just destroyed the kitchen, almost hurt you, I’ve tried to pick a fight with you several times today. How can you sit there and joke that I need to go to bed?”

 

“Because you do need to go to bed. Would you rather I avoid you and fear you? Would you prefer my pity? Do you want me to coddle you? Because that has never been who you are and I don’t think you’re about to start now. You saved my life, don’t think I’ll let that go to waste.” They maintained eye contact for a heartbeat before Cass dropped his head, resting his forehead on Az’s shoulder. 

 

“Thank you.” His voice was muffled by the dark mass of his brother around him; strong, slender arms wrapped around his body while carefully avoiding the bandages. 

-

The tin in Azriel’s hand had the sharp scent of pine. He experimentally rubbed the goo between his thumb and forefinger then delicately sniffed at it. Shrugging, he ordered, “Turn around.” 

Cass tried to protest that he could do this himself, but Az shook his head obstinately. “You can’t reach, and contorting your back and shoulders like that will just cause more pain.” Seeing the other male wouldn't back down, he sighed and turned around, rustling his tattered wings and wincing. Despite the immense pain in his wings, as Azriel’s fingers ghosted along the membrane, cool with the healing salve, every hair on his spine stood on end. A chill shot down his spine and he shivered when the gentle touch moved to the outer edge of his wings, near the talons. Azriel jerked his hand back as if he’d been shocked, muttering “Sorry.”

 

Az was, and always had been, incredibly shy of his wings. The only time Cass could remember him letting someone touch them was when Mor had measured to see whose were biggest, and he’d been slightly drunk then. They all had. (As it happens, Az had the biggest wingspan, though Rhys denied that to this day.) Cass had never been so shy, having allowed many people throughout his life to touch them, both in bed and out. 

 

“It’s okay Az, they’re just sensitive. You know this as well as me.” The roughened fingertips returned to the sensitive membrane and he finished spreading the ointment onto the damaged tissue. A cooling sensation spread through his back and wings, soothing the pain that still burned, almost unbearable. Once Azriel had finished Cass turned to him, pulling his shirt back over his head as he did so. Az caught a glimpse of one of his tattoos, a series of Illyrian runes curling around the back of his neck, down his left side and curving in to rest in a spiral around his navel. Azriel knew it well, had once reverently trailed his fingers down it when it was raw and still healing. It was the story of his first sixteen years of life, as a bastard forced to fight for the clothes on his back. “You’ve overcome before, against all odds.” Cassian didn’t ask what he was talking about, merely nodding placantly. The way Azriel’s eyes narrowed threateningly at his brother suggested he knew he wasn’t saying something, but he dropped it nonetheless. 

-

“I just can’t seem get rid of you, hm?”

 

Azriel’s voice came from behind him, slightly muffled by the pillow. “Never. I enjoy looking at your back in extremely close quarters too much. Two days in a row with your damn tattoo inches from my nose? Thank the Cauldron.” Az always had been freer and less rigid in the mornings, still tired from sleep. 

 

“I think there’s more than my back that you enjoy looking at, but maybe I shouldn’t mention that.” Az’s derisive snort told Cassian exactly what he thought about  _ that _ . Azriel watched appraisingly as Cassian stood, still in pain but without help. Being so weak pained him, and he knew other demons shadowed his eyes besides the frailty. Despite this, he managed to crack a cocky smile at Azriel which the spymaster returned, albeit somewhat softer. Cass tilted his head, considering. “I’ve seen all sorts of expressions on your face over the centuries, but I have never seen arrogance or anything near it.”

 

“Some might say you’ve got too much arrogance, Cassian.” Cass could concede to that point. 

 

“You’ve taken lovers over the years. What is it about you? My overall good looks and undeniable charm are obvious factors for me but-” Az shot him a warning look, which Cassian failed to heed. “-is it the tall, dark and mysterious?” 

 

“I’d prefer to  _ not  _ discuss my sex life with anyone, most especially you.” Cass’ arched eyebrow said he wasn’t happy to let this go. Azriel tolerated the prying questions more than he otherwise would have. He understood Cassian needed a distraction; humor and training were always his go-to’s.

  
“Get your ass out of my bed, Mor is going to think we’re  _ sleeping  _ sleeping with each other, and neither of us will ever hear the end of that.” Az scowled, but his rough chuckle belied his humor as he pushed back the sheets. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the rest of the story

POV-  _ Mor _

(Several months later)

Mor hadn’t expected to walk into the townhouse to such tension. Usually filled with the sounds of various members of the Inner Circle, it was now mostly quiet. Amren was hidden away at her own apartment decoding the Book, Feyre was still in the Spring Court and Cassian had gone for a brisk walk, having been forbidden from any activity more strenuous than that. That left Azriel and Rhys, both of whom were talking in hushed whispers, standing in the ruins of the kitchen that Rhys had yet to put back together. Mor knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but Fae ears were a blessing and a curse and she couldn’t help herself.  _ Curiosity killed the bat,  _ she thought with some amusement, but remembered the second half of that saying a moment later.  _ But satisfaction brought it back.  _ With that, she crept closer to the doorway on preternaturally silent feet. Az’s voice slithered around the doorframe and into her ears, “I’ve always been afraid of getting too close to him. I’m ice, he’s fire, and for centuries I was afraid if I got too close, he’d melt me. Something worse is happening, Rhys.” The tinge of desperation in his tone made her realize this was likely not a conversation to be overheard, but she couldn’t help herself. 

 

“That flame, it’s cooling. He’s turning to ice, Rhys, and it’s my fault.”

 

“Azriel, listen to me, what he did was all him, his decision to make. You know he would have tried to shield you even if you weren’t injured, it’s what he does. He sacrifices himself for others, just as you would, just as I would.”

 

“Losing me, that wouldn’t be such a tragedy. I’ve got more blood on my hands than I like to think about, not all of it for the right reasons. I’m stone cold and have little love in my heart to give.” Mor covered her mouth with her hand, feeling tears threatening to spill. Az, precious, kind Azriel, who was fond of sitting in the garden and sunning his wings for Cauldron’s sake, truly thought himself this tainted and worthless. A thought struck her, sudden as a bolt of lightning.  _ Was this  _ her  _ fault?  _ She knew Azriel had been pining after her for centuries, and had never managed to work up to telling him she would never feel the same, that she preferred women and it was nothing to do with his character at all. She vowed to let her shadowsinger know how much she truly appreciated and loved him. 

 

Rhy’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. His voice was harsh and Mor could hear the pain behind it as he insisted, “No, Az. You have more love than I think you know what to do with. Granted, you don’t express it quite the same as everyone, considering the only person you even allow physical contact with is Cassian, or Mor and I on a good day.” She heard a hiss of breath and a faint  _ click _ , surmising that Rhys had forcefully jabbed a long, slender finger at Azriel’s chest. Right over his glimmering blue siphons, if she knew Rhys at all. “And as for the matter of Cassian, I don’t think turning the kitchen into wood scraps and paint chips is ‘turning into ice.’” 

 

“Ice isn’t quite the problem, barring what I said earlier. One minute he’s sullen, the next cracking the same infuriating, arrogant grin, then he’s destroying the kitchen, and a minute later making jokes about his ass.” Mor had known Rhys long enough to imagine the expression on his face at that one, a single, subtle, upward flick of an eyebrow. “Volatile, we can work with. Stabilizing is easier than reviving. Give it time.” 

 

But they had given it time. Nearly two months had gone by and Cassian was more sullen than ever. It had taken too much effort to get him to eat, too little effort to get him to sleep, and absolutely no effort to get him to drink. Mor had found him with a bottle enough times that she sent Nuala and Cerridwen to watch him, only their wraith blood gave them the stealth to avoid Cassian’s sharp senses. Everything was going to shit and  _ Feyre  _ would probably know what to do but she was still gone. Mor considered herself quite the failure for being unable to comfort her friend of five centuries, but she could never hope to understand what it was like to lose one’s wings. 

 

POV-  _ Azriel _

“I need to ask you a favor, brother.”

 

Azriel’s brow furrowed, but he looked up from the papers spread around him. “You can ask me anything, you know that.” 

 

Something sad flickered in Cassian’s hazel eyes for a brief moment, while the barest smile sat on his lips. Taking a steadying breath he opened his mouth, this favor of his spilling out. He finished with, “I also ask you don't tell anyone, not until everything is done.” 

 

Azriel knew he had to, that he had promised Cass anything and this was his something, this was one monumental  _ favor  _ to end all others. 

-

The wind wasn't as strong as usual, just a gentle breeze that rustled the pine branches and caused the trees to sway slightly, wood creaking. The sky was the same clear blue it nearly always was, but even as they watched it began turning red and orange and gold, brilliant warm hues that streaked across the sky. By the time the sun had set over the rocky tops of the Steppes, Cassian and Azriel had been sitting, leaning so their shoulders touched, for hours. Finally, at long last, the sun was down and the sky was a black velvet, sprinkled through with so many stars Azriel lost count quickly. 

 

“I wanted to see the night sky first, it reminds me of Rhys. Even when we were young, the nighttime sky as seen from the camps was one of my favorite things.” Az didn't answer, couldn't answer around the tightening in his throat. The two Illyrians knelt and the damp earth soaked their knees even as thick green moss cushioned them. Azriel bowed his head so his forehead rested against Cassian’s, his hair falling forward and hiding the sides of his face. He began speaking in the guttural language of the Illyrians; he spoke of honor, life, death, war, everything he could think Cass might want to hear in the comfort of their mother tongue. The more he spoke the more tears rolled down his face, but his voice remained strong. 

 

“Azriel.” He pulled back and tilted his head so they were on level. A large thumb, crooked where it had broken and not healed properly, brushed a tear from his face. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry to do this to you, brother.” Az took a steadying breath, it would do no good for Cassian to see his shoulders begin shaking. After a pause he was able to speak. 

 

“I'm sorry it ever came to this.”

 

“Shielding you, sacrificing for you, was my choice. This- this is my choice too.”

 

Truth-Teller caught the starlight and the metal winked merrily at them, a taunt, as Azriel slide the blade through a chink in Cassian’s armor, straight between two left ribs. “Thank you.” Blood, redder than his siphons, glistened on Cass’s lips as Azriel cradled him, lowering his body to the ground. 

 

Azriel’s “I love you,” came out near-silent, but Cass still heard and smiled slightly, even as the light left his eyes. 

-

The massive dark bundle in his arms seemed to weigh much more than it should have, yet Azriel flew back to the townhouse. One last flight, before they lay his body under the great pines of the Steppes. 

 

When he first shouldered the door open and slipped inside, Mor’s face was filled with confusion. “What've you got Az?” Her preternatural senses caught up a moment later as she frowned, likely catching the scent of blood the hung heavy, Cassian’s scent underneath it. When she saw the blood covering Azriel's armor, clearly coming from the mass in his arms, realization dawned, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “No. No, this isn't- that's not...him?” Az could only shake his head. He wanted to say  _ I'm sorry  _ but he couldn't, those words has already been said tonight, with far too much sadness in them. 

 

He carried Cassian up the stairs and into his room, laying him on the bed as gently as he could; even now he avoided touching his back where mighty wings once were. Mor followed him, leaning into his side slightly as she stared at the body.  _ The body  _ had such a feel of detachment, like it wasn't his friend of five hundred years who lay there. 

 

Mor finally broke the silence. “Did he kill himself?” Azriel turned to Mor, wrapping her in his arms with little regard for the blood still on his hands and chest. She didn't realize he was crying until he spoke, voice trembling. 

 

“I promised him anything.” 

 

Understanding hit Morrigan like a shockwave. “In that, you gave him everything. Do not blame yourself.” 

 

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to crack the wall behind it. A dark figure, surrounded by swirling wisps of night, stood tall and fierce like an avenging angel, grief pouring from it’s very being. Rhys stalked into the room and knelt, graceful as always, violet eyes dry and yet- depthless, never ending. His fingertips brushed over Cass’ forehead, the line of his jaw, across his mouth. Mor turned to leave, to allow her cousin to mourn in peace, but when Azriel made a move to follow he felt a hand on his wrist. Mor shut the door behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet room. 

 

Rhys hadn't said a thing but he waited a beat, and the words came spilling out of Azriel's mouth. The story of the whole hellish night until he'd appeared. Almost as an afterthought, tacked on to the end, he added what Cass had said about the sky, wanting to see it one last time as it reminded him of Rhys. Only then did tears begin to fall from Rhys’ violet eyes. 

 

“Did Mor contact you?” Rhys’ appearance had been too late to have seen them come in, too early to have heard it from anywhere else than a direct source like his cousin. Still, Rhys shook his head. 

 

“I came as soon as I could but I- Az, I  _ felt  _ it. It was like a part of my soul just...snapped.” Azriel's shoulder drooped. 

 

“Rhys, I'm so sorry-” 

 

“It was his decision, Azriel. Don't apologize.” Both Illyrians to turned to look at Cassian one last time, one last gentle brush of fingertips. In all their centuries they had  _ never  _ held hands, it was much too domestic a thing for twenty-plus year old Illyrians, but as they slipped from the room they twined their fingers together in comfort. 

 

He was buried beneath the rising sun, red and orange hues peeking from between the branches of the pine trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I do that to myself
> 
> (Alternatively- why did I do that to my smol son Cass?)


End file.
